Repaying the Mafia’s Dept

Emelia

Massimo drove the convertible with the top down.

As we sped along the freeway, I allowed myself to get sucked into the scenery and the time spent with him. Both helped with pushing yesterday from my mind.

Though I can’t quite forget, and when I think of what is to come and what other truths I might learn, my heart hurts. My soul quivers and my being quakes when I consider Dad having anything to do with Jacob’s death.

I know Massimo was holding back. When we spoke earlier, it felt like that day when he got angry after I told him he and my father were the same. Now I know why he was so furious.

That day, though, he made me none the wiser about the truth of who Dad really is. What he would have known back then was enough to turn my stomach. The way Dad treated his family was unbelievable. All because he was in love with his mother.

There’s something I haven’t mentioned, but I thought about it. About my mother. She would have been with my father during the time Massimo and his family lost everything, and when Massimo’s mother died.

My parents would have been married for five years at that point. To hear that Dad was in love with another woman and behaved that way because she wouldn’t choose him shocked me. I must have been a toddler during that time. Or certainly during the earlier years, my mother would have been pregnant with me.

I always thought my parents were in love with each other. That was a lie too. This man I’ve come to know as my father isn’t the man I grew up with. He’s not. He’s evil. My world is different for knowing that.

It took us a little under two hours to get to Stormy Creek. It’s just past midday.

Massimo verged onto a country road an hour ago, and we followed it all the way to the end. What we’re approaching now is a cottage surrounded by a little bit of land, and a woodland area that seems to lead to the creek. A river flows along our route that looks amazing.

When we pull up in front of the cottage, I’m surprised by the way it looks. It’s so quaint and cozy. It looks like a home in a fairytale book. Like somewhere Snow White would live.

“This is it,” Massimo says. He draws in a breath and seems to savor the air.

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“This is beautiful.” I smile at him.

“I’m glad you like it.” He gets out of the car and opens the door for me.

I watch him. He’s different. He’s not the ruthless mafia boss I’ve come to know. I get the feeling that this is the real him.

He looks around the place with a reminiscent expression. His lips press together, and a line etches in his jaw. Not one of tension, like I’ve seen. It’s looser, just an expression.

When he looks at me, the strangest thing happens. I notice that he looks different too. It’s his eyes. They twinkle like they do in his mother’s painting. I recognize the boy she was trying to depict. The light showing appreciation shines in his eyes. It’s more than happiness.

It brightens when he reaches out and touches my cheek. He kisses me briefly, and when we part, I suddenly understand it all.

That painting was a memory. A moment of happiness when they probably had nothing, but they had each other. I’ve seen him with his brothers and his father, with Priscilla and with Candace. If it’s one thing I know, it’s that this man takes care of the people in his life who are close to him. He values them.

He’s looking at me like that now. With that same twinkle in his eyes. It’s a look that makes me feel foolish for thinking he would have done anything with Gabriella. A look like that can only speak of love.

“I see you,” he says, brushing his nose along mine.

I smile. “I see you too.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ll let you see me here. All of me.”

“You’re happy here,” I state. He nods.

“This was our home. Some other little houses used to be around, but they were damaged in a fire. It never spread to our house, but we had a shed, and that went. I bought the land and the cottage a few years back. I wanted to preserve the memory of the home my mother created.”

“That’s beautiful. All of this? You bought the whole place?”

“Yeah. Back then we used to pretend it belonged to us. Like one big playground full of adventure. The cottage was our base, the meadows, the river and caves by the creek a different adventure for different days.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It was. Ma was amazing. She never once allowed us to slip into sorrow over what we lost. The house we lost should feel like home, but maybe it’s because I felt like I grew up and became who I was here. Even when she wasn’t around. She left the magic behind.”

“Magic,” I breathe.

“Magic. Emelia, today I want you to forget everything. All the bad parts. When we take the next step, I want you to leave everything that happened back in LA. It’s not going anywhere, but we can leave it all behind for a day and enjoy being a couple. I can be your husband, and you can be my wife.” He lifts my hands and kisses my knuckles. “Can you do that?”

“I can. I can do it.”

“Great. So, wife… I’m gonna cook you lunch.”

I giggle. I can’t imagine him making a sandwich, let along cook. “You’re gonna cook? You? Boss?” I laugh. I can’t believe I’m laughing.

“Yeah me, Mrs. Boss.”

“And we have food here?”

“We do. I have a custodian. I let him know we were coming by, and he got everything we need for today.”

It’s sounds great. I haven’t seen much yet, but I wish we could stay longer.

“Okay, I’m looking forward to seeing you cook.”

“I promise you the best meal you’ve ever had.” He intertwines our fingers and leads me toward the house.

Massimo was right. He made me the best meal I’ve ever had.

Steak. I’ve had some amazing steak in my life, but his was definitely the best, and the best meal too. He made me eat my words and impressed me further with an afternoon filled with talking and laughing. With us.

I couldn’t believe that we spent the afternoon in such a way.

To think that I might not have been here at all if he hadn’t saved me yesterday hurts. But I’m pretending that this is our life. In this version of us, we escape here for a break. We live in the gorgeous mansion on the beach and come here when we need a breather. In this version of us, he’s been listening to me talk about art and Florence and what I would be learning at the Accademia.

In this version of us, I look at him and get lost in the beauty of him inside and out. I like it. It feels like this could be our future. Today it is.

It’s starts to get dark, which saddens me because I know tomorrow, we’ll have to leave and return to the real world.

We clear the table and unpack our stuff to get comfortable for the night. We didn’t bring a lot. Just enough to change our clothes. It all fit in a carry-on.

“One more thing to do before the sun goes down,” he says, tugging on my hand.

“What? What are we doing?”

“You’ll see. This is the highlight of this trip.”

I’m intrigued to find out what it is because everything about this trip so far has been striking.

Taking my hand again, he leads me away. We walk across the meadow and down to the river. I tense when I see a little rowboat as memories of yesterday come rushing back to me. I don’t know how I managed to stay alive when the boat capsized. It was the most horrible feeling. A moment of doom and helplessness in which I knew I wouldn’t be able to save myself.

“Are we going inside the boat?” I ask because it sure looks like we’re heading that way.

He smiles and slips his arm around me. “We are, but don’t worry. You’ll be in this boat with me, and we’re going on the river. It’s a lot calmer than the sea. Trust me, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I believe him, so I nod. As we step into the boat, I hold on to his hand for dear life.

“Sit, you’ll be okay,” he promises.

I carefully lower to sit. The boat feels sturdy. He sits too and releases the boat from the dock. He rolls his sleeves up his thick forearms, and we set off down the river. As he rows with the oars, I see exactly how it’s supposed to be done.

It’s vastly different from what I did yesterday.

He rows with strength and surety. He makes it look easy. He chuckles when he sees me watching.

“You make it look like it’s nothing.”

“Trust me, it’s not nothing. Years of practice. My father taught me to fish when I was a boy. He liked going out in the rowboat. He hates speedboats or sailboats. You wouldn’t catch him in anything like that. Says it disrupts the water. If you want to catch fish, you do the least thing possible. You blend in. That way, you catch the best fish.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can’t refute his claim, since he’s always been right. That’s why I had the rowboat. The sailboat I only take out when I want to go diving or just be out on the sea.”

“I’m sorry I lost your boat,” I say, raising my shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t even a thought. I’m just glad you’re okay and here. Not anywhere else.”

Dead or alive. Although I think if Vlad had gotten me, my life would be worse than death.

“Here… this is where it happens.” He looks around as we drift deeper into the woods. It gets darker suddenly because the trees enclose the area.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ll see, but I suspect you’ll see more than I do. My mom used to bring me and my brothers out here. Every time we came, she saw something different. I guess that’s the way artists think.”

I smile at that. I’m about to say something when I see it. A flow of pink light ahead of us.

It gets brighter and brighter as we approach, and I wonder what it could be.

Moments later, I get my answer when I see a flock of flamingos resting on either side of the riverbank. There are so many that the color they create together against the setting sunlight looks like a bask of pink light.

It’s not long before I’m transported into a dark fantasy.

“Oh my God… this is beautiful,” I breathe. I can’t resist the smile that fills my face and the warmth that covers my heart.

“Yeah. It is.” Massimo nods. “What do you see?”

“All kinds of things.”

“Tell me.”

I’m touched that he wants to hear about the creativity that sparks my mind. I’m intrigued that he wants to hear so much about me.

As I talk, it feels like sharing pieces of my soul.